It's all been cooked perfectly,
The icing smooth as skin,
The inside's warm and moist,
The slices nice and thin.

Then mankind comes along,
With curiosity,
And takes its podgy finger,
Dabs, and makes a print.

Now mankind licks its finger,
Smacks its sugary lips,
And takes another dab,
- Followed by a lick.

More fingers come along,
Filled with curiosity,
Have a cheeky dab,
And make a little print.

But the cake's no longer warm now,
And tastes a little cold,
So mankind decides to warm it up,
Called "heating" so they're told.

For a while,
The heating works,
And the cake is nice and warm,
But the longer they have used it,
The hotter the cake's become.

Until the cake's too hot,
And the icing starts to melt,
And the fingers get all sticky,
And the cake begins to smell.

And the insides go all dry,
And crumple into two,
So mankind has to leave,
No cake is left,
Just goo.